But what about our lives?
by On-the-right-road
Summary: A short scene based on the Turner family's temporary fostering of a baby in S3E2, inspired by young Timothy Turner's question and the knowing look which follows between Shelagh & Patrick. One shot.


**_A short scene which could take place some time in Episode 3, based on the events of Episode 2. _**

**_Disclaimer: These characters belong to the BBC, Heidi Thomas, Neal St Productions, yada, yada, yada ;-). As always I mean them no harm. _**

Patrick's attempt to catch up with his paperwork was interrupted by the sound of a gentle tap on the half-open office door.

"Enter," he called distractedly, fully expecting Nurse Lee to stride into the room in her normal forthright manner, come to deliver the latest reports she had asked him to look at. Instead he was met with a different distraction - one which caused his face to light up with surprise and delight - as Shelagh poked her head round the door. Despite numerous assurances that, as his wife, she had no need to either knock or wait when there were no patient appointments scheduled, still she couldn't shake her habit of showing due deference to the importance of his work.

"Sorry to bother you Patrick. Do you have a moment? I have something I need to talk to you about."

He grinned and held out a hand, beckoning her in.

"For you, always."

She turned and closed the door softly behind her, firing his curiosity. Unless he did actually have a patient in with him he had adopted a 'my door is always open' practice at the new clinic. As the consummate professional she was and always had been Shelagh rarely took up any of his work time with private matters.

She walked smiling towards his outstretched hand, his eyes following her every move. She was wearing his favourite of all her outfits again today, a figure-hugging grey pencil skirt and a soft-knit lilac jumper which draped equally elegantly over her petite form. The frequency of its liberation from her wardrobe seemed to have increased since he had expressed his appreciation of it, a fact for which he was sincerely - and silently - grateful.

He had come to learn that she did not accept compliments easily, even though he had delighted in showering them upon her in the very early days of their marriage; how beautiful she was, how soft her skin, the silkiness of her hair, the depths he could fall into when looking in her eyes, the way her smile could light up a room and every corner of his soul. He was not normally given to such poetic declarations – he was a practical man of science and medicine after all – but he could not rationalise away the effect she had on him. He had quickly come to adore every inch of her form, as much as he had previously fallen in love with her lively mind and beautiful soul.

Her small fingers curled into his and instinctively he raised her hand to his lips in a familiar gesture which made her eyes dance in delight.

"Sorry for the intrusion," she apologised again, although her demeanour suggested she was anything but. There was an eager inflection to her tone as she perched on the edge of his desk.

"You know that we talked about the possibility…?" Her words tailed off shyly and she glanced down, withdrawing her hand from his to rest it on her stomach. Patrick's heart leapt into his throat.

"You mean…?" he managed to choke out, eagerly leaning forward and covering her hand with his own again. "You're sure?"

She rested her other hand on top of his and sighed somewhat wistfully. "I'm not completely certain, no." She began to stroke her thumb across the back of his hand affectionately. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about. I know I said I should probably give it another couple of weeks to see how my cycle went. But Patrick, I _feel_ different. Something's changed." Her eyes, her whole face, lit up with joy at that last admission. "I'd like to get a test done today. I don't want to wait any longer."

Her excitement was infectious and he freed his hand to move it round to nestle in the small of her back.

"In that case, neither do I."

Tugging gently, he gave her no option but to step closer until she took the hint and curled her arm around his shoulders. He had a familiar look of puppy-like adoration on his face, one so out of keeping with his professional demeanour that she knew he reserved it only for her, for moments like this when they were talking of their innermost dreams and desires. Impulsively she leant down to kiss his upturned lips. "I love you," she said, giggling as she straightened up.

He buried his cheek against the softness of her jumper, where it covered the smoothness of her tummy and she wove her fingers into his hair to hold him closer. "I love you more," came his mumbled response.

She giggled again and took a step back. "So you're happy for me to ask Sister Julienne to carry out the test?" she clarified.

His wide, eager smile gave her her answer.

"Right, I shall go and ask her straight away."

Despite her stated intention she didn't move and he made no move to release her from his embrace. She held his gaze and watched his smile fade into seriousness, his eyes darkening. His hand was making slow circles on her back and she noticed the bobbing of his Adam's apple as he considered his next words.

"Shelagh, I never thought I'd have this opportunity again. Not at this stage of my life, not at my age. The thought of having a baby with you, it's..." He paused and closed his eyes as if in prayer. When he opened them again there was a new resolve there: "It's incredible. But I need you to know that whatever happens - whether you're pregnant or not - you've made me happier than I ever thought possible. You do know that don't you?"

She nodded mutely, unable to find the words to express just how cherished his words made her feel. Her hand wound back into his hair, fondly sweeping the unruly waves off his forehead, smoothing his brow. His eyes drifted momentarily shut again and his smile reappeared as he leaned into her touch.

"Timothy as well – he adores you. You've made us a family again. I know you'd make a wonderful mother because you _are_ a wonderful mother."

Her mind flashed back to how broken both 'her boys' had been at the funeral of Patrick's first wife, but how brave as well. She recalled Timothy taking Patrick's hand and urging, "Don't cry Dad." As a nun she had been well-accustomed to dealing with grief-stricken parents and bereaved children, but that small gesture had almost undone her. As she flashed forward through all that had beset them since - all three of them - she marvelled at how far they'd come. She could see Timothy growing into a fine young man, wise and kind beyond his years, his character forged in the crucible of his suffering. Yet he was still childlike enough to need hugs and bedtime routines - and _her_. Patrick was right; no matter what the future held she already knew what it was to love a child as her own.

She smoothed his hair back once more and smiled into his eyes.

"And I adore him, as much as I adore his father. And baby – whenever he or she comes along - will adore both of you."

"Come on then," he said decisively, standing and slipping his hand into hers. "Let's go and find Sister Julienne. You can tell her what the happy occasion for our calling on her is. Then, if you want, I'll be happy to wait outside and leave you in the capable hands of your Mother."

"That would be perfect."

FINIS

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